Nostalgia
by Krissy Mae Anderson
Summary: After the events of 'No Strings Attached', Abby winds up with Luka but everything is not what it seems.


_"Nostalgia" by Krissy Mae Anderson  
_

**Summary: **After the events of "No Strings Attached", Abby winds up with Luka - but everything is not what it seems.  
**Rating:** T  
**Spoilers:** "No Strings Attached" - sort of. I think there's some spoilers for "Fear of Flying" and "The Crossing" in there somewhere.  
**Disclaimer: **Dang. I asked my Dad to give me the ER characters for Christmas, but he forgot - so I still don't own them.  
**Random dedication: **To Raechel, Caryn and Emily, to having been forced to listen to my rabid Luka musings every time I see them. And of course to Maya, who graciously agreed to read the story and helped me with the one Croatian word used in it.  
**Author's note: **I'm a frigging fanfic machine nowadays, ain't I? I seem to be producing fics quite frequently lately. Must be something in the water, or the lack of oxygen in my brain - who knows? This fic is based on a dream that I had not long after "No Strings Attached" aired, and which was unfortunately interrupted just when I saw Luka naked. The fic containes less nudity and more angst then my dream did (man- I wish it would be reversed - but I can't write nudity...) And the story's not beta read again. I'm a bad, bad girl. But forgive me this time - my computer crashed, had to be rebooted and killed Word in the process. Any continuity mistakes are mine - I don't have the last four eppies on tape.

* * *

He looks at me from the bed, his eyes almost accusing, but forgiving at the same time. I am wearing my gray bathrobe, the one I have not worn for almost a year because of the bloodstains. All he has on is a towel, and his hair is wet from the shower - the rivulets of water streaming down his shoulders are like little waterfalls. They run down his arms, drip down on the covers, and leave dark spots on the sheets, which look like blood in the dark. 

For some reason, to find myself with him this night doesn't surprise me very much. It has nothing to do with me being drunk, and everything with the strange connection between us that only seems to work during bad times anymore. And tonight's definitely a bad time - the mother of all bad times, to tell the truth. Eric has most likely gone off and killed himself, smashed himself into the lake on that fucking plane, and didn't say goodbye, disappeared from my life without letting me help him, without letting me understand his illness, to try to accept it. Luka knows how death of a loved one feels, and I need to find out from him how it feels to live with ghosts, how to deal with the guilt, the anger, the pain. This is one thing Carter can't help me with, although he has also lost a brother to a disease, because he doesn't feel the same kind of guilt for his death as I feel for Eric's and Luka for Danijela's. We know that there was a small, miniscule chance we might have prevented those deaths, and it gnaws on us, never lets us forget that there was a chance and we missed it.

A thought pops into my head and I can't let go of it. We are getting older day by day - Carter is going to be thirty-three in June, my thirty-second birthday has come and gone, and if I'm not mistaken Luka will be thirty-eight this year. So far, what have we all achieved in our lives? I've got a divorce, a failed career as a doctor, alcoholism, and the role of the eternal caretaker for my mother and brother. I hate myself, hate the world and I hate Maggie for giving birth to me. Luka's record in achieving his goals in life has been almost quite as dismal as mine, although largely because of outside forces and not because of low self-esteem. Carter seems fucking happy-go-lucky compared to me and Luka, because he has achieved something despite the all the crap that has happened to him recently. Carter has finally gotten himself into a position he always wanted, and he wants to be happy and have a good life but he doesn't know what he would be getting into with me - he doesn't know that I have not felt happy for as long as I can remember, that no one will ever bring true happiness to me, that I am petty, mean and angry, that no one will ever be able to make me better.

Speaking of Carter - who is probably getting on a plane in Belize, his trip all forgotten, coming in to "rescue" me - Carter, faithful, loyal, and blind in his love. I love him - I really do, but I still have feelings left for Luka, because there are just too damned many unresolved things between us, and because I feel that I will always love him, even if just a little. Carter loves me very much, he cheers me up, but sometimes he can't get deep inside me and understand what makes me me, why my demons have such a power over me. Luka does, because his demons and mine are good friends. Our relationship would have perhaps worked out if one of us was less damaged, but both us were too precariously balanced, and when our relationship snapped, it snapped with a vengeance.

Our relationship began on a bed. If my eyes serve me right, this is the same bed it started on, but why are we in that hotel? I don't know what's happening with me anymore. I followed him that time two and a half years ago when he stormed out of the ER, but I didn't do it this time, and I am angry at myself for that. I haven't called him since he walked out of the ER a couple of days ago - and now we have somehow wound up half-dressed in a hotel room, not doing much more then looking at each other, trying to remember the last time we have been in a similar situation. It has been a very long time since we last slept together, more then a year - September 2001, on a Saturday evening when we "baptized" his new apartment. It was a happy occasion - we behaved like adolescents, forgot about Luka's grandmother's favorite saying - "love is blind but neighbors aren't" and finished off the evening by going to my apartment and falling asleep together.

One day several weeks after that Saturday we both got too jealous of each other, and our official relationship ended with many painful words thrown at one another. We plunged into our nightmares - I started to drink again and got beat up by Brian, and Luka started on his long self-destructive trip that has reached catastrophic propotions recently. While Luka has been thinking up new and exciting ways of destroying himself, I managed to find Carter, who was willing to put up with me and love me, and so I set Luka aside for a while, forgot that he considered me a friend, and when I finally decided that I had time for him it was too late, and he was out of reach, having retreated into himself after I missed his final effort to reach out to me.

He looks at me, does his trademark nervous smile, and I notice the weariness in his eyes that wasn't there the last time I looked - but when was the last time I have looked at him, looked into his eyes? I can't remember. Both of us should have had a talk a long time ago - it would have made our lives much easier, but we are two stubborn fools, so we never had that talk, and now we are intimate strangers, trapped within our past. I have found someone to take his place, but he hasn't, and I wonder why he stays around, why he waits for me despite knowing that I am taken. Am I so irreplaceable to him that he can't let go of me? I wish I could read his mind, know what he is thinking, why he continues to cling to me, to love me despite the way I treat him?

He looks beautiful in the semi-darkness of the room, his face like that of an ancient marble sculpture in the moonlight, and I think of the many nights during our relationship when we just lay together in bed listening to each other breathe. He would run his fingers through my hair, and I would listen to his heartbeat, and we would fall asleep together. Our relationship was at its best when we were silent - the troubles only started when we spoke to each other...

Resolving to remain silent, I sit down next to him and carefully touch his chest, put my hand over his heart, feeling the familiar heartbeat through my fingertips, becoming intoxicated with the familiarity of the situation. I lean towards him, and let my lips touch his, but then I suddenly can't kiss him, because his eyes scare me. I don't know why, but I suddenly feel afraid, not for myself, but for him. I move away, and shiver slightly, unsure of the source of my fear, and decide to speak after all, to finally have that long overdue talk.

"Luka-" I start to say, but he just puts a finger to his lips and smiles again, his smile somehow grotesque. I want to continue speaking but I can't, feeling paralyzed, afraid of the water drops that continue to drip from his hair with a frightening regularity.

"I lied," he whispers, and reaches out, touching my hair, running his fingers through it just like he used to do. "You're the prettiest and the most special. But you were right. I'm married to a ghost."

I feel confused at this sudden statement, but I still really want to kick myself. Yes, Abby, he is an asshole at times, but he has tried to fix the damage his words caused, tried to say that he was sorry, and you haven't let him get through to you, you never thought about the fact that it takes two to tango and that he is not the only one to blame for the demise of our relationship. Sometimes I don't feel particularly pretty or special, and now I feel quite ugly and dirtier then dirt, to tell the truth.

"I'm sorry," I manage to say, but can't come up with anything more coherent, can't think of anything to say despite the fact that I need to say so many things to him. I look down at my hands, and stare at the spots of dried blood on my bathrobe, trying to come up with something to say.

"You wanted to ask me something, Abby," I hear Luka say, and I feel my mouth opening without my mind prompting it, and hear myself say: "Do you think-"

"-death is instantaneous?" an unfamiliar voice continues, startling me. I look up and see a woman, her face partially hidden by long dark curly hair, standing behind Luka, her hands resting on his shoulders. I free and watch how he looks up and smiles at her, his hand coming up to caress her face. She is beautiful, but very pale, her face standing out in the darkness just like Luka's. I look down and see a gaping wound in her stomach, and feel nothing but mind-numbing fear. She gives Luka a bundle of sheets and as she does it I see a young girl with a bloodstained face, who smiles at me with the same nervous smile Luka has, and points at the bundle. I look down at it and finally manage to scream, seeing a baby's hand sticking out from a pile of bloody sheets, and continue screaming when I look up and see the water rivulets from Luka's hair turn into blood. I continue to scream, because I can't get up from the bed, and I only see his eyes, black and dead and empty, looking through me...

…and then I jerk awake, and hear myself screaming on top of my lungs. I open my eyes and jump off the bed, screaming even louder when I feel a cold liquid soaking into my bathrobe. Finally, I look down and see that the liquid is nothing other than tequila, and that I am in my own apartment, and have fallen asleep on the couch.

Then I remember the dream, and try to realize what it means, what my mind is telling me, and freeze when it hits me that no one at work has heard from Luka for several days, and what mood he was in as he stormed out. God - don't let him be dead - don't let him disappear as well. I stumble off the couch and frantically search for the phone, find it and punch in the number I thought I have forgotten. The phone continues to ring, and I wait, with my breath caught in my throat and my hands gripping the phone so hard they hurt. My answering machine message light blinks in front of my eyes, burning into my drunk brain the number 37, 37 calls from Maggie, and I can't breathe until I hear an answer of some kind. I hear a click and start to say his name when I realize it's his answering machine.

_"Hi, this is Luka. I'm not home. Please leave a message."_ His voice sounds like it did in my dream and I feel even more scared.

"Damn you," I mutter and redial again. I wait, and then the machine picks up again. I slam the receiver down, and feel tears rolling down my cheeks. Luka, don't you dare to do this to me tonight, when Eric is lost God knows where, don't you dare to disappear on me as well. I continue hitting the redial button, biting my nails, staring at the blinking "37", and hearing those damned eleven words over and over again. I know it's four thirty in the morning, but I don't care if I wake him up, I just need to know if he is okay.

Finally, after I have lost count of the times time I called, the machine's monotone reply is interrupted when a familiar voice, tired and listless, but a voice that I am incredibly happy to hear, snaps: "_ 'ko_ - Who is this?"

For a moment, I contemplate saying that it's me, telling Luka about Eric and asking him to come over, to comfort me, to just talk to me, but I can't squeeze a single word out, and his life right now must be already complicated without me in it - so I just slam the receiver down and sit still for a while, really wanting to get on a plane and follow Eric into his oblivion. Soon, I start feeling sleepy, so I take another drink from the bottle, get off the couch and walk over to the bedroom. I climb into the bed, pull the covers over my head, and wish for dreamless sleep to come and claim me, to take me away from here...

**The End**


End file.
